


Without Saying Goodbye

by jattendrai



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-30
Updated: 2021-01-30
Packaged: 2021-03-16 14:00:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29083536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jattendrai/pseuds/jattendrai
Summary: Minfilia, in all of her wisdom and strength, still held to the idea that this wasn’t how it was supposed to turn out; that she just knew from the look in her eyes, the things she had done, that she was the Warrior of Light looking back at her. Everybody felt it, and not just them, but all of Eorzea; Merlwyb, Kan-E-Senna, Haurchefant, the merchants and the adventurers and the gardeners and the chocobo stable carriers, they all knew it too! It was her, it was supposed to be her…But it isn’t, anymore.
Kudos: 3





	Without Saying Goodbye

There was that kid, that Thancred thinks about sometimes. The one with mismatched eyes, white on the right and emerald green on the left, that heaved down Primals with her hands and made it out of everything. She was a Scholar, or was she a Summoner? Thancred remembers both the tinge of the Carbuncle lighting her way through the darkness, but also the ethereal jingling of the faerie embracing her form to nurse her back to health.

The child was found out in Summerford, but Y’shtola; they had almost succumbed to the Gobbue’s unending appetite, but she slayed them all to the surprise of the mi’qote. She proved herself over and over, time and time, no obstacle too big for her, and she was inducted into the Scions of the Seventh Dawn under the premise that she was the reborn Warrior of Light.

And Thancred believed it. She had an air to herself that was unordinary, even beyond her strength; she was someone who never stopped smiling, even with arrows and poison running through her.

When she spoke, she commanded the room without needing to raise her voice, barely standing at two fulms tall but with a baritone to it, a brass bell laughter that would enchant any eternal bonding. She never spoke ill of anybody or complained about anything, not even the poor food or the days she spent sleeping underneath Lominsian market stalls. It seemed as if she couldn’t hate at all, not even those that deserved to be hated, and it made Thancred wonder if she would kill at all if it wasn’t laid upon her shoulders as supposed destiny.

She made graves for those she buried, left flowers in the wake of bloodshed and made prayer to whichever of the Twelve ruled one’s heart; she cried and cried as she carried Noraxia’s body herself to the Sylph resting ground, and still makes the voyage there routinely to upkeep the area and offer her abundances to the still-grieving nation.

She was, in fact, an extension of compassion to all the beast nations she met, not just the Sylphs. The Kobolds and the Sahagin loved her especially, they saw her funny dances and her ability to use her little legs to carry bombs twice her size both joyous entertainment and a show of respect; never once did she sneer or condemn what they have done, even as the Scions and the grand companies have; instead, she would  _ listen _ . Something rarely given to them, and they gave her an abundance in return. Their love, their items, their currency; she would return to show the fine cloth or new paints to Thancred sometimes, trying her hardest to recount the things she was told ( and snapped at Thancred when he asked of things not allowed to be known, because only she can know. )

She truly was light incarnate, a bundle of warmth and bravery and unending kindness; she would’ve made the perfect Warrior of Light, with all of that abundance inside of her, enough to light the world and free Eorzea of it’s darkness.

But she wasn’t, because a Warrior of Light… wouldn’t do the things she had done.

Minfilia, in all of her wisdom and strength, still held to the idea that this wasn’t how it was supposed to turn out; that she just  _ knew _ from the look in her eyes, the things she had done, that she  _ was  _ the Warrior of Light looking back at her. Everybody felt it, and not just them, but all of Eorzea; Merlwyb, Kan-E-Senna, Haurchefant, the merchants and the adventurers and the gardeners and the chocobo stable carriers, they all knew it too! It was her, it was supposed to be her…

But it isn’t, anymore.

Y’mhitra shoulders the burden, believing it to be her fault of things. She was the one who wasn’t watching the girl too closely, who roped her into using the serious dangers of the man to teach her how to use her abilities as a newfound Summoner student.

She cried into her sister’s shoulder, believing that if she didn’t be so reckless, none of this would’ve happened.

They tell her that nobody could’ve expected this. It’s nobody’s fault.

It was simply out of their control.

She tried to compromise, with the man who took the lives of innocent people for the loss of his brother, for the pain of having to strangle out the life of his own kin with his hands. She fought to understand this rage, and to lull it out with a compassion that couldn’t burn bright enough to not die to the rage.

But she still tried, and it was the first mistake.

She took his hand, which was her second.

And she promised they’d figure it out together, which was the third.

They didn’t think it would go this far. It was so innocent at first; she promised to find a way to end the Primal burden, without the need to hurt the beasts. She shared secret information with him, from the books collected in the Solar.

Soon, she started sneaking him in, when Tataru wasn’t looking. She wanted to help him find any answers, any way to win; it was the goal of the Scions, and she had entirely trusted them.

She tried to reach him, to meet him where he stood and walk him away from the edge --- but in her strength, compassion, and kindness, laid ignorance; she was too young, too small, too immature to understand the gravity of the situation.

When Urianger was hurt, the night he caught them in the Solar leafing through Minfilia’s documents, was the night they knew the bond between them had taken her. Urianger recounted that he had grabbed at her arm in an attempt to gain her attention, but the man with her had saw it as a threat and immediately lashed out; whatever wicked, fiery beast he called out was nowhere documented in the Summoner’s guild, and it was concluded that he had already held the power of a forgotten Primal. It had gotten his arm and slammed him against the wall, allowing him to pick the girl up and run out of the Solar.

He was dangerous, and even worse; he was  _ attached. _

She said that he didn’t mean to do that, that she was just trying to help him. Y’shtola sought her out somewhere out in the barren landscape outside of Ul’dah, and the girl pleaded that he isn’t that bad; that she killed an Ascian that was manipulating him, and now she was going to help him. Ballfisted and upset, she promised Y’shtola that she would ‘figure something out’, and ran before she could be taken back to the Solar.

Minfilia had hoped that the situation wouldn’t reach its breaking point. She had hoped that she’d come back one day, that nobody would be hurt further. Hoped that this wasn’t going to end how she thought it would.

But now Thancred looks at the fabled message from St. Coinach’s Find, on the table before him, salvaged from what was left of the Solar.

It still had the blood on it.

It wasn’t meant to happen, is all they know. They couldn’t know what was going through their heads, what they had concocted. Minfilia’s Echo had, unwillingly, given her the knowledge of what they saw on that day, plaguing her for the rest of her life, but the memory only gave her more questions than answers. More headaches than rest.

It was an exchange, for the life that was taken. He had already been to the stakeout before, took the innocent lives of four Summoners for their powers. Their return was sudden, confusing, and rattling; they had vital research and hours of effort amongst their men, and all they saw was a threat to that. An arrow was all it took to draw blood, a Mi’qote fighting back for his precious research.

It was love that killed him. Where a brother was lost, a sister was gained, and once you’ve lost it once you’d vow never to again; it was that promise she made, that cost the life of a Mi’qote.

It was a mistake, Thancred knew she’d say if she was still here. It wasn’t supposed to happen. He wasn’t supposed to die.

She couldn’t stop it, he knew. She was too young to know. She was told the world rested in her hands, that she would save the world from the darkness and bring the light back to Eorzea. She was to do grand things. She was going to save everyone, and so she thought she could save him, too.

He lost a brother to the Primals, strangled the life out of him to put him out of his tempered misery. Made a deal with an Ascian for the power to kill the beast nations that called upon these Primals, was thwarted when a girl with mismatched eyes and gentle kindness promised to save him and figure out something together. They became like brother and sister, but the story couldn’t be changed; and the same fate fell upon him again. To snuff out the life of the weak thing that he cared about.

But he’d go, this time, with her. Didn’t want to let go.

Because where there was once rage, rage for his little brother being so pathetic and weak --- it was replaced, now.

Thancred knew the feeling. She put it in everyone she met.

_ Love. _


End file.
